


I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted

by TheSacrificialPancake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, basically we pick up after the first 3 minutes of the finale, we love a domestic montage but the rest was absolute trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27666797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSacrificialPancake/pseuds/TheSacrificialPancake
Summary: When Cas was in the room, his grace vibrated through the space like warmth from a radiator. His very being hummed, gently.Dean didn’t know a silence could be so loud.orA finale fix it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 51
Kudos: 266





	I couldn't whisper when you needed it shouted

It’s too quiet in the bunker.

Dean knows neither Cas nor Jack were ever particularly loud or talkative. Hell, there were times he’d watch them sit, unmoving, staring at the television for hours without comment. Even when doing something as mundane as munching on a bowl of popcorn they were all sharing, the heavy stillness of their frames reminded Dean just how not human these two were. But even so, there was an undercurrent of electricity to their presence. Maybe it was the angel mojo, or whatever charged them up to suddenly blink light from their eyes like the Impala’s headlights flickering on at dusk. Cas, especially. When he was in the room, his grace vibrated through the space like warmth from a radiator. His very being hummed, gently.

Dean didn’t know a silence could be so loud.

It's been a few months since they said goodbye to Jack. That had been bittersweet, Dean remembers, driving back to the bunker with two fewer passengers than planned, despite the addition of Miracle dozing on Sam’s lap. He couldn’t deny the relief he felt knowing the Chuck ordeal was over, and that they were, for the first time since he was 4 years old, free. No more fate puppeteering their lives, no more shitty writers calling the shots. He had felt especially grateful looking over at Sam, whole and healthy, peacefully stroking the dog. But without the steady humming of energy from the backseat, Dean couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. Even now, he tried not to look at that thought too directly. He’d only glance at it peripherally, and then quickly away to other things. If he faced it head on...well, that just isn't an option.

Sam and Dean both become horrifyingly domestic in the months that follow. Sam buys dog toys that quickly find themselves scattered across the bunker floor, chewed to bits by Mira, as they now call her. Dean goes a whole week without putting on real clothes, opting strictly to lounge in his robe and slippers, no longer fearing that he’ll wake up to a monstrous attack. Sam starts reading for fun again, dense science fiction novels and obscure biographies. Dean cooks them food every single day. Burgers, pasta, sandwiches, even that veggie bacon Sam had requested. He earned it, Dean thought. 

They had earned this.

But it’s still too quiet.

Sam eventually nuts up and finds the courage to go see Eileen. Dean drives him there, feeling a bit like a chauffeur dropping Sam off at his middle school dance. But he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face when he watches Eileen run down her front steps and jump into Sam’s arms. They swing in a full circle before her feet touch the ground and their lips meet. He leaves them to it after that and heads home to Mira and an ice cold six pack. Dean can’t get many details out of him about the reunion the next day, but Sam looks happy, and a faint hickey pokes out along the collar of his shirt. Dean smirks and wiggles his brows at his eye rolling baby brother, but otherwise doesn’t comment. 

Seeing Sam happy with Eileen keeps things fun. The three of them spend more and more time together, and an easy dynamic develops. She teaches them the basics of ASL for when the lights are too dim to lip read. She politely sits through Dean’s western movies even when Sam conks out with his head on her shoulder. She destroys Sam at Scrabble, while he sputters and Dean cackles at the sight. Mira sprawls out on top of them all whenever she can, warm and soft and cozy. _Happy _, Dean realizes, _this is what happy should look like.___

____

____

Should.

Then Sam begins spending more nights at Eileen’s. He leaves the dog with Dean, for which Dean is quietly grateful. If Sam sees the vaguely glassy look in Dean’s eyes when he says goodbye for the night, he doesn’t mention it.

It’s a good life they have now, Dean thinks. The big bad demons are taken care of. They’ve perfected the home cooked dinner routine. They’re safe, they’re together, they’ve got a dog. By all rights Dean should be happy with it.

But with Sam gone half the time, things are _definitely _too quiet.__

Dean begins to get the impression of wings all around him. He daydreams about the telltale flutter that announces his angel’s arrival, and has to actively stop himself from turning to glance at the door. He sees a silhouette in his mind’s eye of broad shoulders under a rumpled trench coat and a tattered shadow stretching across the sky. Or, in the wee hours when nightmares find him gasping upright in a tangle of sheets, he sees that same shape burned into the ground beneath his feet. On even worse nights, it’s his hand holding the blade that pierces Cas’s heart.

Dean hasn’t allowed himself to think about Cas’s final moments these past few months. He’d hung the jacket with that bloody handprint in the back of his closet with care and has refused to look at it since. He says nothing of Cas’s...confession, to his brother. He takes the memories and pushes them deep inside his mind, under Sam and Eileen and Mira. The nightmares that wake him in tears are of Cas dying, but he must be good at training his brain, because they show him all the _other _times Cas has died, and how fucked up is their life that he could even have that problem? He sees flashes of Cas sinking into the reservoir, exploding at the snap of Michael’s fingers, gasping in pain as April stabs him through the abdomen.__

____

____

Tonight he wakes us sweating profusely, and sees flashes of Cas pulling his hand away from Dean’s while they stand in the storm of the Purgatory portal. His words ghost an echo in Dean’s ears, fading as consciousness claims him. _Nothing you could’ve done would’ve saved me because I didn’t want to be saved. It was where I belonged. You can’t save everyone, my friend. Though you try. ___

____

____

Dean exhales, hard, and flops backward so violently that he whacks his skull on the headboard.

He has lost people before and he will lose people again. This is normal. It’s grief. It’s being human. He has Sammy and he has his own kitchen and he has a life ahead of him that is his to control.

But it is too _damn _quiet.__

____

____

Dean gets out of bed.

He blasts ACDC. He runs the blender. He clunks around under the Impala’s hood. He turns on the TV, and the radio, and a random Youtube playlist. He even hits shuffle on Sam’s old ipod while he panic orders a white noise machine. Then he shuts everything off.

The silence is somehow the most deafening thing he’s ever heard.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it is too quiet and he can’t take it anymore.

He grabs a bottle of bourbon. On second thought, he stops, and grabs another.

~~~~~

When Sam comes back from Eileen’s the next morning, he finds Dean like that, slumped over the table and looking dead to the world. His heart skips a beat, but settles at the sight of the empty bottles strewn around his brother. Not dead then. Just dead drunk.

Sam drops his overnight bag in his room, collects a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen, and returns to the main room. Mira is snoozing under the table, and lifts her head when he approaches. Sam gently shakes Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey, Dean, wake up.”

Dean jerks, fists flying before his eyes are even open. Sam blocks it easily, since Dean’s balance is so off. “Whoa! Whoa, Dean, stop it! It’s me, slow down.” Sam holds Dean’s fist still and shakes his shoulder until the light comes back into Dean’s eyes. He blinks twice, hard, and slumps back into his chair.

“Fuck, Sammy.” He drops his head onto the table with a loud _thunk. _They both wince. “Sorry for taking a swing at you.” Dean muffles a groan and squeezes his eyes shut against the bright lights.__

____

____

“It’s okay,” Sam says, pushing the water and ibuprofen closer to Dean. “Here. Looks like you had a rough night.”

Dean sighs gratefully and dry swallows a few pills, ignoring the water until Sam glares at him pointedly. He rolls his eyes, winces again, and downs it all. Sam sits in the chair opposite Dean.

Silence sets in, as it does with them. It’s comfortable, until it isn’t.

“So you had quite a party last night, huh?” Sam asks, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, it was a real rager.” Dean mumbles. His eyes track downward to the carvings on the table. That’s the one thing they had done before Dean had disappeared into his room the day they said goodbye to Jack, Sam remembered. They had pulled out their knives and carved names into the table side by side. Sam had done ‘Jack’, and since it had fewer letters, he had watched quietly as Dean finished the one that read ‘Castiel’ with such care and reverence that it felt like a prayer.

He knows what this is about.

“Why the liquor fest?” Sam asks anyway.

Dean shoots him a look. “What, I gotta ask for permission before I hit the hard stuff?” It comes out a little nastier than he intends. He sighs at his own tone, and rubs fingers along the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, _that _is a hangover.”__

____

____

“Dean,” Sam says calmly. He waits until his brother sheepishly meets his gaze. “I know you’ve been having nightmares about Cas.”

Dean swallows. “How?”

“You wake up screaming his name.”

Dean’s eyes close and Sam can practically see the horrible pictures projected onto the inside of his brother’s eyelids.

He exhales shakily. “Sammy,” Dean breathes, “I don’t know how....or what...I-I can’t just…” Dean runs a hand through his hair, flattened on one side from crashing on the table. “How am I supposed to just...move on? After-” 

He stops suddenly, a flush rising in his cheeks.

Sam’s been waiting for this.

Jack had told Sam about Cas’s deal with The Empty, sometime between Dean arriving with that handprint on his shoulder and Jack disappearing to go be God. He understood the gist of it, how Cas had to achieve perfect happiness in order to summon The Empty to come collect him. He didn’t know exactly what that would have entailed, but he knew Dean couldn’t keep it in forever.

“What happened before Cas died, Dean?”

Dean fixed his eyes on the carving of Castiel’s name, a stubborn set to his jaw. He took a few deep breaths.

“He told me...he loved me.”

Sam stares for a beat. 

“And?” Sam asks.

Dean squints at his brother, waiting for an explosive response that doesn’t come.

“What do you mean, and?” Dean snaps. “He told me he loved me, Sam.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Is that it?”

Dean throws his hands up. “What is wrong with you? He dropped a bombshell on me, that he _loved _me, and apparently that was enough to k-” Dean chokes it out, barely. “To kill him.”__

____

____

“Dean, are you...are you trying to tell me this was a surprise?”

Sam has never seen Dean look so flummoxed. It’s like a demon has come up behind him and solidly connected a crowbar to the back of his head. If he looks really closely he can imagine the gears turning behind Dean eyes, which are beginning to mist.

“Di-” Dean’s throat catches and he swallows before trying again. “Did you know?” He whispers.

Sam gives him a sad smile, and briefly considers lying. Instead he says kindly, “We all knew.”

Dean shatters.

His face crumples, sobs wrack his body, and his hands come up to hide his eyes. Sam hurries around the table, kicking a chair closer and pulling his big brother against his chest. Dean clutches at Sam’s sleeves, heaves huge gasping breaths against his jacket, and he cries, and cries, and cries.

Sam holds him and aches for his brother. His poor, oblivious, bereaved brother. Mira whines a bit and lays her head on Dean’s lap. His hand finds her nose and it seems to ground him.

A while later, Dean’s breathing calms down a bit. He keeps his head pressed against Sam’s shoulder, but tilts his chin so he can look at the ‘Castiel’ carving. Sam rubs a hand up and down his back a bit.

Almost too quiet to hear, Dean mumbles, “I didn’t even get to say it back, Sammy.”

Sam’s hand freezes.

“I never…” Dean sniffs hard, wipes his shirt sleeve under his nose. “I never let myself think that it might be possible he felt that way.” He pulls away to bring his face level with Sam’s. “How did you all know?”

Sam snickers.

“You’re laughing?” Dean glares at Sam incredulously. “What are you laughing at? Shut up! This is not a joke!”

Sam covers his mouth with a hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, that just-” He sighs. “It was just so obvious.” Dean kept looking at him expectantly. “He pulled you out of hell. He rebelled against his superiors. An angel believed in you enough to turn his back on heaven, Dean, time and time again. And things have been tough between you, sure, but even when you were fighting, beating each other bloody or sassing each other over some hunt or spell, you bickered like an old married couple. Angels weren't programmed to do stuff like that, but he did, for you. Of course I knew.”

Realization dawns slowly in Dean’s eyes. He’s thinking, quiet. 

Sam leans in. “Plus, there was the eye fucking.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sam-”

_“So much eye fucking.” ___

____

____

“Thank you, I get it!”

“Like, I was embarrassed to be in the same room with you two most days.”

A crooked smile cracks through the despair on Dean’s face. He chuckles, and wipes away a tear, and pats Mira’s head. Sam squeezes his shoulder.

“So you really love him too?” Sam asks.

“Of course I do.” Dean says fiercely. Then, weaker. “Did.”

“I didn’t think…you never...” Sam trails off, unsure how to say it.

“What, you didn’t think I was bi?” Dean lets out a humorless laugh. “Hate to burst your bubble, Sammy, but I’ve been sleeping with men as long as I’ve been sleeping with women.”

“No, I knew that,” Sam mutters. Dean’s eyes widen. “I just didn’t...”

“...didn’t notice my pining because you were too busy noticing Cas’s?”

“No, I knew you loved him too,” said Sam, making deliberate eye contact. “I just didn’t know _you _knew.”__

____

____

Dean groans and drops his head into his hands. “I was such an idiot. All these years. All this time wasted when we could’ve...and now, we’re finally free of this stupid puppet master. We actually have a chance to slow down and make some big changes. I finally find the chutzpah to admit it, and it’s just too fucking late.” 

A sad beat passes. “Everybody leaves me, Sammy.”

Sam begins to protest, and stops.

“Everyone I’ve ever loved has either betrayed me or died.”

“I’m still here,” Sam points out.

“Yeah, like you’ve never died on me.” Dean throws back at him. “And be honest with me Sam, I am not your ideal life partner. I know you love Eileen, and I know you’re thinking about a future with her. I know you’re dreaming about a white picket fence in the suburbs and a law practice and little Irish babies running around your front lawn. Don’t deny it.”

Sam can’t. He’d dreamt about Eileen’s mother’s claddagh ring sitting on her dresser last night. Maybe not now, but someday.

“That doesn’t mean I’m gonna leave you, Dean,” he reassures him. “Just because my life includes other people, you don’t mean any less to me.”

“I know, I know,” Dean says, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant. Shit. Look, I love Eileen, and I love how happy she makes you. God, Sammy, what I wouldn’t give for you to have that picket fence.” He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Imagine how cool I’d be as an uncle, huh?”

Sam waits for him to go on.

“It’s just that it’s always been you and me, y’know? Winchesters vs. The World. And when there were lives to save and demons to fight and capital G God pulling the strings, that worked. I mean, this is the only life I’ve ever known.” His eyes fuzz out into the middle distance over Sam’s shoulder. “All that can end now. And I always thought it’d be you who’d find a way out of hunting. That you’d settle down and raise a family, and I’d just wind up on the wrong end of a blade in a random hunt some day, too young and unattached and unimportant.”

“But for the first time, I think...I think I want a life that looks a little different. I want a real house. I want a 9-5 with a steady paycheck. I want to learn to bake mom’s cherry pie.” Dean swallows hard. “And I look at you and Eileen. I see you being the center of someone else’s world for once, and I hear the silence in this bunker, and I want a partner. But more than that, I want…”

He trails off, so Sam finishes his sentence. “You want Cas.”

A hard expression drops over Dean’s features, wiping the twinkle of hope from his eyes. “But since when do we get what we want, right?”

Dean is reaching for the last whiskey bottle before Sam can stop him. “Anyway, he’s probably being tortured in The Empty right now, because of me.”

Sam knocks the bottle out of Dean’s hand with such force it crashes to the floor. Mira barks once and runs from the room.

“Fuck, Sammy!” Dean jumps up, liquor splashed across his jeans and glass shards crunching under his boots. “That was Woodford!” He strides to the closet to retrieve the broom.

Sam blocks his path. “Dean, stop! Use your brain, here. You’re not going to drink yourself into a coma when there are actual things to be done!”

“Like hell I ain’t!” Dean yells back. “You got your girl Sam, you don’t get to judge me here. I will cope however I damn well choose to cope.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re not the only one who’s lost a person you love, Dean. I’m not judging you.” Sam takes the broom from his brother’s hand, puts it down, and grabs Dean’s shoulders. “I’m trying to jump start your problem solving skills.”

Dean pulls a face. “What the hell are you talking about, man?”

Sam glares his pissy glare. “Did you forget that we’re practically co-parents to the new God? An extremely powerful new God who has pulled Cas out of The Empty before?”

Dean freezes.

No, he had very much not forgotten about Jack’s recent promotion. But since Jack went poof, he hadn’t considered its relevance. 

“Look, it’s all well and good that you’ve finally admitted to wanting something for the first time in your entire life,” Sam says. “And I’m proud of you for that. But I’ve never known you to give up on those you love before.” A glint appears in Dean’s eyes, like his soul rising to the surface when it hears the call of a challenge. 

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

~~~~~

Dean kneels on the ground, his knees grumbling in protest. He tentatively folds his hands over his chest. Then, he bows his head. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to do any of it.

He hasn’t prayed to God in a long time. 

“Hey, Jack,” he starts. “It’s Dean. Winchester. Obviously, um...you got your ears on? I hope you can hear me. I really need you to hear me. And I hope you’re...well, I hope you’re safe, and happy, wherever you are. God knows you deserve it. Or, shit, _you _know, y’know, like you as in God, um. Jack knows you...fuck. Kid, we just miss you and we really hope you’re alright out there.”__

____

____

He peaks open one eye to look around self consciously, but it’s just him and Mira in his bedroom. She’s dozing on the bed with a chew toy under one paw, and couldn’t be paying less attention to him.

“I know you said you were gonna be hands off, Jack. And I respect that, I really do. No matter what happens from here on out, you know you’re our family and we will always be proud of you.” Dean takes a bracing breath.

“But Cas has gotta be your exception.” Dean whispers fiercely. “We are this close to a chick flick happy ending, but none of it means a damn thing without him by my side.”

“So I’m asking you...no. I am praying. Please. Help me get him back. I need him. I lo-” Dean cuts off, realizing he’s never said it aloud, not in these words, not this plainly. “I love him, Jack. And every single chance I had to tell him that, I was too much of a damn coward. I’m sorry for that. I’ll regret it til the day I die. But I need him back, so I can tell him what I should’ve told him when he needed me to.”

He waits, holding still in that position, long enough for his knees to really start complaining. Eventually, he sighs, and sits on the ground with his back to the bed. Mira, sensing his distress, whines and trots over. She flops her chin onto his shoulder from atop the bed, and Dean absently reaches up to scratch her ears.

“Good girl,” he says, staring at the clock on the wall. The second hand ticks past the 12, once, twice, three times…

And the low comforting hum is back.

“Hello, Dean.”

Jack’s sudden presence standing above Dean startles Mira so much that she jumps to hide under the bed. Dean gets to his feet.

“Hey, Jack,” Dean mutters, his voice suddenly thick.

He clings to his kid with reckless abandon. Jack’s hands rest solidly against Dean’s shoulder blades. Dean is clinging so tightly that it would probably make a human’s ribs creak.

“I missed you,” he mutters into Jack’s shoulder, tears prickling behind his eyes. The return of that almost imperceptible hum makes them spill over.

“I’ve missed you too, Dean,” says Jack, pulling back so they’re eye to eye. 

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re here. Of course, because we missed you, but also because I really need your help, man. We gotta-”

“Slow down, Dean,” Jack stops him. “We must talk first.”

Dean exhales hard. “Okay.”

Jack looks him straight in the eye. “I heard your prayer. I know what you’re going to ask me, and before you do, I must clarify one very important thing. What exactly are your intentions towards Castiel?”

Dean sputters.

No one has asked him about his ‘intentions’ since he was 16 and got dragged home to meet a girl’s parents after three dates. He feels equally as equipped to answer it now as he did back then.

“My intentions?”

“Yes,” says Jack, a serious expression on his face. Eyes squinting, head slightly tilted. Dean ignores the stab of pain in his chest when he remembers who Jack learned that one from. “You know I love you all like fathers to me, and this family has shaped me into who I have become.” A smile quirks at the corner of Dean’s lips. “But Cas...our bond is special, and I am protective of him. I know him, Dean. I...I knew.”

Dean grumbles. “Yeah, Sam told me. Apparently it was obvious.”

Jack shakes his head. “No.” Then he nods. “Well. Yes, the romantic attraction between you two was quite obvious, even to a being such as myself who is, technically speaking, an infant.” Dean stares. “But that’s not what I meant. I knew about his deal with The Empty.”

“You what?” Dean doesn’t understand. “Why didn’t either of you tell me about that?” 

“Because it was to save me,” says Jack, “I owed Cas my life, and he wished to keep it a secret from you.”

“Did he say why?” Dean asked, frustration boiling under his skin.

“I assume it’s because he anticipated this very reaction.” Dean looked down and noticed his hands were clenched into fists by his side, and consciously released them. “He sacrificed his life for mine, but he knew you would play a key role in his ‘moment of true happiness.’” The air quotes look odd coming from God himself. “That’s why he stayed away so much. Had you known, given your history of martyring yourself…”

“I would’ve done something stupid to stop it,” Dean concludes.

Jack nods. “And while I want him out of that place as much as you do, I know the depth of his feelings and I know the potential pain that lies between you should you not...reciprocate them the same way. We may not approve of his decision, but he did find some form of happiness, Dean, and he deserves happiness. So I’ll repeat my question.” Jack straightens his shoulders. “What are your intentions towards Castiel?”

Dean steels himself against the programmed flush of shame. He is not embarrassed by this. He’s just so used to pushing down his own desires. But wants this, and he’s gotta say it. “I want to tell him I love him, Jack. I need to. He’s gotta hear it. And I want to get him out of that turbo hell void of bullshit and hold him in my arms and know that he’s safe and okay and alive.”

“And then I’m gonna kiss him.” Dean has never said that part out loud, but he’s dreamed about it plenty. He realizes as the words take shape in his mouth that he wants this so desperately it aches. “And I’m gonna find us a little house with a big kitchen, and I’m gonna, I don’t know, build him a fucking treehouse. I’m gonna do whatever I can to make him happy, for as long as he’ll let me, because I love him. And there’s no life for me here without him. So will you help?”

Jack smiles broadly, and nods.

He heads to the door, opening it quickly and rushing down the hall. Mira barks and follows Jack, trotting at his heels like it’s playtime.

“First, we must find Sam,” Jack says, heading to the main library.

“Are we gonna need his help too?” Dean asks, taking long strides to keep up.

“Well, probably, but more importantly, I now owe him twenty dollars.”

Dean stops short. “What?”

Jack turns to look at him with that playful glint again. “We placed a bet on you two. I was sure you would never find the courage to confess your feelings to Cas.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, kid.”

“For the record, I’ve never been more happy to be wrong.”

Jack grins up at him, and the rush of affection that swirls in Dean’s chest threatens to send the tears flowing for the third time that day. He ruffles Jack’s hair instead, and gently pushes him down the hall. 

“Thank Jack you’re here.”

~~~~~

Sam paces back and forth across the library, his heels striking the floor rhythmically. Jack sits in the armchair, flipping through a book of runes, carefully turning ancient pages. Dean listens from his seat at the table.

It’s still too quiet, but they’re getting closer.

“So you can’t just fly in, grab him, and fly out?” Dean asks Jack again. He isn’t getting this.

“I can’t.” Says Jack, scanning the pages. “The Empty, Heaven, Hell, even Purgatory...they’re all separate entities, like sovereign nations. Since I am...what I am now, I cannot simply cross into the boundaries of another’s domain without warning, especially not to steal one of their souls.”

“Cas is not one of theirs.” Dean doesn’t mean to raise his voice.

“Dean,” Sam fixes him with a gentle glare. “You know what he means. Cas made a deal, he technically belongs to The Empty.”

Jack interjects. “If I were to enter The Empty with the sole purpose of retrieving Cas, my presence might be seen as an act of violence. I’d be crossing a border, so to speak, and that is not something I can risk now that everything is finally in balance.”

Dean thinks some more. “You woke him up remotely last time, and by accident. Could you try that again?”

Jack shakes his head. “I had so little control over my powers then. Since I have no idea what I did, it could be dangerous for Cas if I tried to manipulate him from afar. And even if I could wake him, he said he had to annoy The Empty into releasing him. Given their current relationship, I imagine that wouldn’t go well this time.” He returns to scanning the runes.

Dean’s heart sinks to somewhere in the vicinity of his kidneys.

“So you can’t get him out,” he mutters, misery seeping in like a winter chill through the warm spring air.

“Aha!” Jack yells, slamming his pointer finger into the page he’s just turned. There’s Dean’s favorite glint of mischievous power in his eye. “ _I _can’t. But you can.”__

____

____

~~~~~

The rift spell is pretty standard. 

Rosemary, sandalwood, Dead Sea brine, holy oil, yarrow root, and the blood of the summoner.

The only problem is, it’s designed for humans.

The hope that has been swelling like a balloon in Dean’s chest pops when Jack points out this rather significant caveat.

“What do you mean, designed for humans?” Dean asks. His hands have stopped mortaring the yarrow root without his permission. “What happens if I go through and then try to bring an angel back?” 

Jack reads grimly through the passage. “Given the historic framework of this text, we can assume it’s bad.”

“Bad like it would kill Cas bad?” Sam asks. Dean shoots him a grateful look, since he doubts he’d have been able to ask that himself.

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t think it would kill him, but there is a chance it would nullify the rest of the spell. It could simply close the rift, effectively trapping you both in there.”

Dean breathes deep. In for a penny, in for a pound. “But there’s a chance it could work?”

“Absolutely not, Dean!” Sam yells. “You are not going to run a suicide mission that will cage you and Cas in The Empty, there’s gotta be another way.”

Dean bites down on the declaration that it’d be worth it. He’d be with Cas, forever, somewhere. Something tells him that would be okay, even there.

The three of them stew in tense silence for a minute.

When the idea strikes him, it hits like lighting.

“Oh,” Dean mutters. His voice comes out oddly calm, given the blasphemy that’s just powered up a light bulb above his head.

Sam and Jack turn to look at him.

“We both have to be human to pass through the rift.” Dean manages to keep his voice steady. “So...” he waits a beat, hoping one of them will piece it together before realizing if he’s too cowardly to say it, he probably can’t do it, and that is just not an option.

“So we take out his grace.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Can we even do that?”

“Yes,” Jack mutters darkly. “It’s been done to him before, by Metatron. It’s how he became human when the rest of the angels fell.”

“It would get him through the rift with me,” says Dean, snapping his fingers as he realizes another problem that can be crossed off the list, “and it would rip up his contract. The Empty only wants angels, right? If he’s human, it can’t come for him again, even if he’s happy.” God, Dean hopes he’ll be happy.

It’s Sam, it’s always Sam, with the ethics in mind. “But Dean...are you sure he wants to be human? I’m not advocating that we leave him there, but taking his grace feels like a big deal.”

Dean knows. But he also feels with an ironclad surety that this is the only answer. “Living a human life on Earth with us is better than rotting for eternity as an angel in The Empty.” _And he’d be with me _, Dean thinks. _He’ll want that life too...right?___

____

____

_____ _

_____ _

An ugly defensive part of his heart makes him say “And if he doesn’t like it, he can take back that grace, power up, and go poof.”

Sam and Jack share uneasy glances, but they know Dean is right.

“This is our move,” Dean says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “Now let’s bring him home.”

~~~~~

Sam will be sitting by the spell bowl, tending the ingredients; replenishing burnt herbs and flowers as they disintegrate. Jack will be standing behind the huge Enochian sigil painted in blood on the floor, using a spark of his own remaining angel grace to hold the rift open.

And Dean, well. Dean will be going in.

He doesn’t know quite what to expect. He’s seen all corners of Hell, and many versions of Heaven. He can’t quite picture the vast blackness of The Empty. How do you imagine nothing?

Maybe that’s the point.

He has to be in and out within one hour, or the rift will close. They don’t know how time will feel there, so his watch timer is set to 60 minutes. 

He’s scared, for more reasons than he can think about right now.

“Ready when you are,” Dean tells them, and steps to the edge of the sigil. Short, clipped words pour from Sam’s mouth, and Dean hears the hiss of a match falling into the bowl. Jack closes his eyes, holds his hands downward, and spreads light from his fingertips across the sigil.

A burst of what looks like black lighting shoots from the center of the mark. It climbs maybe 8 ft into the air, crackling with electricity and casting shadows where Dean would expect light.

Jack smiles at him. Sam nods.

No going back now.

Dean hits the timer on his watch, and steps into the rift.

~~~~~

When he comes to, he is flat on his back. Whatever is beneath him feels solid enough to hold his weight, but certainly not tangible like the earth would be.

He opens his eyes and has to blink twice to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

It is _dark. ___

____

____

He can see his own body, dimly, and feels his way down his torso and legs to make sure everything’s where it needs to be. He can see as far as his own boots as he makes his way to standing, but there is absolutely nothing else around him. No light, no horizon. The sound of his feet on the not quite ground echoes widely above him, like he’s under a giant dome.

He feels like a bit of an idiot. What else did he expect from a place called The Empty?

Jack had told him that much like all other realms but Earth, The Empty’s appearance is influenced by how you anticipate it. Dean couldn’t really grasp the vastness of the nothing that awaited earlier. So, that’s all that surrounds him now.

He glances down at his watch, and promptly panics when he realizes he’s lost nearly ten minutes already. Of course time slips here, like it would in Purgatory. Of course this couldn’t be simple. 

_Hang on, Cas. I’m coming for you. ___

____

____

Dean closes his eyes, almost sure it’s less disorienting then uselessly keeping them open, and walks forward. The text Jack had found had given vague instructions to navigating The Empty. It stretched infinitely in all directions, so Dean couldn’t exactly turn left at the fourteenth shadow.

He has to will himself into the right place.

I am going to find Cas. Dean thinks, over and over. I am going to find Cas. I am going to find Cas. I am going to find Cas.

____

____

____

____

_____ _

_____ _

He walks for what feels like five minutes, but when he checks his watch again, has been twenty.

“Shit,” Dean says aloud. Weirdly, the sound bounces back at him.

That’s odd. It shouldn’t have anything to bounce off of.

“Shit.” Dean says, louder, cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “Shit!” He hears that same reverb of his own voice from one direction, and aims towards it. If cursing is what makes this work, the universe has a great sense of humor, he thinks.

____

____

He speaks aloud into the darkness, striding forward purposefully. “I am going to find Cas.” The ping of sound hits higher in his ear, closer to his left side. He adjusts course. “I am going to find Cas!” He’s running now, the sound bouncing right in his face, high pitched and strong. “I am going to find Ca-!”

Dean trips. 

If it was the real ground, he’d have broken his nose for how hard he faceplants. As it stands, he gets a mouthful of shifty dusty darkness, and peers around to see what he tripped on.

“Cas!” 

The angel is crumpled on his side, face slack, trench coat wrinkled, and he is the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen.

“Cas, hey, Cas,” Dean kneels above the angel and carefully turns him over onto his back. He cannot help but cradle Cas’s face in his hands, and stroke a thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?” Dean doesn’t think Cas can hear him, but it just feels so damn good to say. “We’re going home.”

Dean pulls the angel blade from his inside coat pocket.

“This is gonna work, y’know how I know?” Dean babbles at the unconscious Cas while he uncorks the vial around his neck. “Because I really fucking need it to.”

He angles Cas’s chin up with one hand on his jaw, and takes a deep breath before slicing a thin but deep cut under his Adam's apple.

Cas instantly moans in pain, shifts restlessly under Dean’s hands to escape the blade. “Oh, fuck, Cas, are you awake in there?” He squeezes Cas’s shoulder to try and rouse him, but gets no answer. A small whine escapes the angel’s throat as a rush of blood from the cut reminds Dean what he’s doing. “I know the angel blade stings like a bitch, I know. I’m sorry, Cas.”

Dean holds up the vial to the cut in Cas’s neck, and tries not to think about this part. “I really am sorry.” He mutters the strange, ancient words he’d memorized earlier and they taste like electricity on his tongue. He thinks he’s butchered some of them, but the slice in Cas’s throat begins to glow anyway.

He watches in morbid fascination as Castiel’s grace flows in a steady stream from his neck into the vial. As it does, Cas takes one long, slow inhale, arching minutely off the ground. Once it’s all out and Dean caps the vial, Cas exhales loudly and goes limp.

What’s done is done.

Dean checks his watch and curses. Ten minutes until the rift closes. He grabs the bandage from his pocket and quickly covers the oozing slice in Cas’s neck. There’s no light anymore, only normal, seeping, human blood. Jack said being human would wake him up in this realm, but Dean gets no reaction from the still unconscious Cas. He’s limp even as Dean presses on the cut harder, which ratchets up his anxiety a few thousand notches.

Dean grabs his face again. “Cas. Cas!” He pulls Cas into sitting, and tilts him sideways so he’s leaning against Dean’s torso. His body is entirely limp, and feels lighter than it should be. “Cas, this is the part where you wake up. We’ve gotta go!”

Dean feels a cold shadow pass through him. He instinctively pulls Castiel hard against his chest and tries to scan through the darkness.

A slimy voice crawls into his ear.

“Hello, Dean.”

It’s a mockery of Castiel’s own voice, and it makes Dean twitch. It’s deep and rich, but full of menace and ice. Darkness swirls in front of them, smoke and shadow taking shape. Soon Dean is looking at The Empty itself, wearing Castiel’s blue eyes and trenchcoat.

Dean holds Cas tighter in his arms.

“Here to try and steal one of my favorite playthings, are you?” Empty Castiel walks slowly closer. Dean doesn’t dare shift his position for fear of leaving the Cas on his lap exposed. “We do have ever so much fun together, you know.” The false innocence in the otherwise familiar voice sinks into venom. “Would you like to see?

“No, I’m not buying whatever you’re selling today, thanks.” Dean keeps one hand cradled behind Cas’s head, pressing the slack face into his own shoulder, and rotates the other hand to look at his watch. Shit. Only five minutes remain. “And would you look at that! I’ve got a previous engagement, so if you don’t mind?”

“Oh but I do.” Empty Castiel is suddenly in Dean’s face. It takes more effort than he’d care to admit not to flinch. “You see, the best part of my day is playing with your little angel here. Just...like...this.”

Empty Castiel waves a hand absentmindedly, and Cas nearly arches out of Dean’s grasp. He screams, so loud the echoes ring through the space, and Dean has to scrabble at the shaking body to keep him from rolling away.

“Cas? _Cas! _” As soon as it began, it’s over. Cas goes limp in Dean’s arms with a whimper, and the Empty Castiel laughs cruelly.__

____

____

“See, Dean? We have fun here just like you do in Hell. After all,” The Empty morphs so fast it nearly gives Dean whiplash. The black amorphous blob snaps into place and he is suddenly looking into the face of Alastair. “I did learn from the best,” a sick, sing-songy voice rocks Dean to his core.

_Oh, you bastard. ___

____

____

But weirdly, muscle memory flips an old switch behind his ribs. His pulse slows and his hands steady. Alastair might be nightmare fuel for Dean, but he doesn’t have time to indulge in that. If this shapeshifting dick is the only thing between them and the life they want, Dean will not back down. He doesn’t have to work to keep his voice low and steady and dangerous when he says, “You will never touch him again.”

“That’s not up to you, sweetheart.” Empty Alastair strokes a cold finger down Dean’s cheek. Dean briefly considers biting his hand. “He made a deal. All I did was hold up my end.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean asks. “Well he didn’t.”

Dean swings a mean right hook and knocks the Empty Alastair on his ass. He slides an arm under Cas’s knees and gets to his feet, the vial of grace now visibly dangling from his neck.

Alastair’s face morphs at the sight. It grows and ripples, furious, oil slick, grotesque features popping in and out of sight. His body bubbles, growing from his sprawled position on the ground. “What did you do?” A thousand deafening voices seem to roar at once, the figure swelling until it towers above them.

“I made him human,” Dean says, thinking as hard as he can, _we will get out of here, we will get out of here, we will get out of here, NOW. ___

____

____

He feels warmth open behind him.

“So you can’t have him, you son of a bitch.”

Dean closes his eyes, grips Cas tight, and steps backwards into what he hopes is the rift, just as the tinny sound of the watch alarm goes off and The Empty shrieks into the nothingness.

~~~~~

Dean collapses to the ground with an armful of Cas in the center of the sigil.

“Dean!” Sam yells, just as Jack yells “Cas!” They both drop to their knees next to the pile of tangled limbs. Cas immediately starts coughing, and blood begins to spray from his neck.

“Whoa, whoa!” Dean slaps a hand to the cut on Cas’s neck, while they try to catch their breath on the floor. Cas’s eyes are squeezed shut, and his breathing is way too fast, but Dean can feel his pulse hammering under the rush of blood from between his cupped fingers, and he could nearly cry with joy.

“Jack, you mind?” Dean asks, and Jack places two fingers to Cas’s forehead. The blood vanishes, and the wound heals over.

Cas breathes easy, and Dean cups his face just in time to see the ocean sunrise of his eyes opening.

“...Dean?”

Dean stifles a sob. “Hey, Cas.”

Dean barely notices as Sam takes Jack by the arm and mutters “Let’s give them a minute, okay?” He’s too busy sliding an arm under Cas’s shoulders and propping him up, one hand flat against his chest so he can keep feeling that heartbeat.

“Dean,” Cas looks confused, and his eyes are a little glassy. He sways a bit like he’s dizzy, and Dean holds him tighter. “What...what happened?”

“It’s a long story,” Dean says. “The cliffsnotes version? We got you out of The Empty. And…” Dean reveals the glowing vial around his neck sheepishly. “...we had to make you human to do it.”

Cas reaches out and touches the vial of grace, his eyes wide. As his fingertip makes contact with the glass, Dean hears that deep satisfying _hum _he’s been waiting for. It makes him gasp.__

____

____

But then it’s gone. Cas pulls his hand away from the vial, and tilts his chin upward so they’re face to face. His eyes are wide, and his lip trembles.

“I’m so sorry, Cas, it was the only way we could think to get you out of there, and I-I just couldn’t live with myself knowing you were there because of me, so-”

Cas’s head weakly bumps Dean’s chest and his arms slide around Dean’s waist, and he realizes he’s being hugged.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean crushes Cas to his torso so hard he can hear an audible _oof. _“Holy shit, Cas, I missed you so much.” Cas squeezes back, as tightly as he can in his weakened state. Dean feels wetness on his shirt and his face at the same time, and realizes they’re both crying.__

____

____

Finally he moves back, and carefully pulls Cas to stand with him. Cas wobbles a bit, so Dean steadies him by placing his hands on Cas’s waist, and Cas’s hands land on Dean’s chest. Dean can’t help but run a thumb absently over the material of the trench coat.

“You saved me,” Cas says, wonder in his eyes.

“Yeah, well, no big deal,” Dean shrugs, “I figure now we’re even.”

Cas’s eyes had never been bigger. “This was no small feat, Dean.” 

A flush hits the back of Dean’s neck. Cas never did let him get away with self deprecation. “Worth it. Nothing felt right with you gone.” 

A silence passes as they stare at one another. 

_Man up, Winchester. ___

____

____

He swallows. “Cas, about what you said. About how you feel. Before we...I have to-”

Cas shrinks, color rising in his cheeks. “You don’t need to say anything.” He tries to disentangle his arms from Dean’s, but Dean holds him tighter.

“No, Cas, I really do, becaus-”

“I mean it, Dean, I don't expect anything from you, and I’m grateful for the rescue, but I’m under no impression that it means y-”

“Cas, if you’d just shut up and let me talk, I am trying to tell you th-”

“I already know, Dean, I know you don’t feel the same way about me, so why bother discus- _mmph!” ___

____

____

Dean grabs Cas by the lapels of his trench coat and pulls him in for a fierce kiss.

A surprised sound escapes the back of Cas’s throat. He is stiff as a board for about three seconds, and then he absolutely melts in Dean’s arms. 

His lips move against Dean’s while he slides one hand into Dean’s hair at the nape of his neck and the other to the invisible handprint on his left shoulder. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s waist, feels the warmth and humanity and _life _of this person in his arms.__

____

____

They break apart after what feels like a lifetime.

Cas’s lips are pink, his breath comes out short, and his eyes are a deep sky blue. Dean has never loved a sight more in his entire life.

“I have been reliably informed,” says Dean, “that we are both oblivious idiots.”

“Is that so?” Cas asks, trailing his long fingers down Dean’s jaw.

“Well, I am, for sure,” says Dean. Cas’s eyes flare and he can almost see the light that isn’t there anymore. “Cause I’ve waited so long to say this.”

Cas stares with bated breath. Dean reaches behind his sternum and unlocks whatever ugly thing it is that kept him from blurting this out years ago.

He bursts like a dam.

“I love you, too, Cas. Of course I do, I am so in love with you, and I have been forever. And none of that, like-a-brother, disguising my feelings bullshit. I am for real, romantically, kiss you in the rain, cuddle on the couch, grow old with you while we watch the world turn _in love _with you. And I was so shocked when I heard you say it first, and so scared when you disappeared. I-I’ve been kicking myself for months that I let you go, that I let you die for me, thinking that you couldn’t have this. That you couldn’t have _me_." Dean barks out a laugh. "I am yours, Cas, I am so completely yours, and I hate that I didn’t say it, so I’m saying it now and damn it feels good. I love you, Cas. I love you, I love you, I lov-”__

_____ _

_____ _

Cas runs his thumb over Dean’s lips.

“Prove it,” Cas mutters, a playful twinkle in his eye. “Kiss me again.”

They kiss a lot, and cry a lot more, and hold each other until it feels real.

Eventually, Dean wipes at his eyes with his sleeve and takes Cas by the tie for one more slow, delicious kiss. “We should go find Sam and Jack. I’ve been hogging you, and they’ll want their turn.”

“I’m certain they don’t mind,” Cas whispers, his voice huskier than normal, and how was that even possible? “Besides, I’ve only just discovered that one of life’s greatest pleasures is kissing Dean Winchester.” His breath ghosts across Dean’s lips. “Now that I’m human, it’s crucial that I begin learning how to engage in these human activities.”

Dean chuckles. “We’ve got plenty of time for that, don’t you worry.” He wraps an arm around Cas’s shoulder and begins to lead him out of the room to partake in a more family oriented celebration.

Something stops him.

“Wait,” says Dean. Cas looks over quizzically. “I gotta say one more thing.” He breathes deep, and Cas waits patiently. God, no one has ever been as patient with Dean as this angel in his arms.

“If you ever, and I do mean _ever, _die on me again, I will personally resurrect you just so I can kick your ass.”__

____

____

Cas pulls Dean’s chin so they’re directly eye to eye, and then mutters with iron in his voice. “Dean Winchester, I love you and I swear to you that I will never leave your side again. In this lifetime or the next.”

Cas seals his promise with a kiss.

There is no angelic hum sounding in Dean’s ears. Instead, his chest feels full and warm, like guitar strings have been strummed and left to vibrate right over his heart. The music of Cas’s love sings through Dean, thrumming like a pulse. It is alive. _They _are alive, and human, and together, and in love.__

____

____

That’s a sound Dean will happily listen to for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> [Loosely inspired by this wonderful fan made comic!](https://lizleeships.tumblr.com/post/634598981398331392/here-please-have-my-soul-in-a-ten-panel-comic)
> 
> Now that the writers have finished ruining everything, may we all feel empowered to pick up a pen and write our own stories. 
> 
> First fic I've ever found the chutzpah to post!
> 
> Title from "Shrike" by Hozier.


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